“Noelle? Is everything okay?” he answers.

“Yes. I have a couple of questions. Are you free?”

“Sure.”

I balance the phone between my ear and shoulder as I pull a glass down. “Do you know if Lena bought her salad from Rosie’s the day she was killed?”

“She did. She called me when she was there. I didn’t think that was important.”

“Neither did I,” I say under my breath. “So, she picked it up, right?”

“She went in to order it and had it delivered since she’s just down the street. She did that a lot.”

“Why didn’t she just call?”

“You already know we’d been fighting all day. She called me to tell me she was staying at the shop because there was stuff to do and didn’t want to have the conversation with the girls around.”

That makes sense. “Okay. Thanks. This helps fill in some blanks.”

“Is everything okay?” he repeats.

“Yes. I’m just trying to get a solid timeline together is all. Sorry to bother you on a Friday night.”

“No worries, Noelle. You can call any time.”

Nice to have permission for something I already plan to do, I guess. “Thanks, Ryan. Have a good evening.” I hang up and carry my wine to my front room. After turning the TV on for background noise, I curl up on the sofa and pull my little Tiffany Glock from my chest. I set it on the side table next to me and sip my wine.

Just before Lena was killed, she’d gone to Rosie’s to call Ryan and order dinner. That would have taken ten minutes at most, so when she got back, she told Mallory and Penny to go. Rosie’s salads are all fresh, so it would have taken fifteen minutes to prepare, and around three minutes to deliver down 21st to the boutique.

Which means the salad was somehow poisoned during its delivery. And taken from Rosie’s salad container and put into another. Otherwise, HWPD would know exactly where Lena ordered her salad.

Why was the container changed? How did the salad get tampered with? Who delivered it? Why has no one come forward to say that something happened that night? Who was watching Lena to know that? Was it planned or was it simply an opportunistic moment to kill her?

And how the hell did Daniel Westwood, her best friend and fellow cheatee, get poisoned?

I saunter into Rosie’s Café before the morning rush and set my purse on the counter. Rosie Martinez, plump with slightly greying hair, turns and shoots me a big smile that’s reflected in her hazel eyes.

“Well, good morning, Miss Noelle. How are you?”

“I’m very well, thank you, ma’am,” I reply, my eyes dropping to the pastries. “How are you?”

“I’m just fine, thank you.” She wipes her hands on her apron. “What can I get you?”

“I actually hoped you could answer a couple of questions for me if you have time.”

She waves her arms around the café. “No one here but you and me, sugar. What’s botherin’ you?”

“I found out last night that Lena stopped by and ordered her food the day she died,” I say softly, bringing my eyes to Rosie’s. “I’m trying to piece together how your salad got the poisoned leaves in. I can’t work it out.”

Rosie sighs and pushes a few loose strands of hair from her face. “Miss Noelle, I wish I could answer you. Daniel took a few salads out, only he never came back. Never answered his phone or nothin’.”

“Daniel?” I frown. “Westwood?”

“Yes. He helped me out here on some evenin’s. My back ain’t what it used to be,” she chuckles. “He was around for deliveries¸ sortin’ that there stockroom out the back, and little bits of handy work. Touchin’ up paint spots, puttin’ up a picture—you know the type? He was a good boy,” she finishes on a soft tone. “Of course, he never answered his phone.”

I reach over the counter and gently tap her hand. “He was a darlin’, for sure.” Except for the part where he fucked another man’s wife. “Have you found some extra help again?”

“No, ma’am. I just haven’t had the time.”

“I know someone who would be willing to help. Marshall isn’t the strongest, but he’ll do until you can find a replacement. I’ll talk to him when I get back to the office.”

Her face brightens. “Oh, you’re a good girl, Noelle. No wonder your grandmother is fixin’ to get you married. You’ll be a good wife.”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

“I’m waiting until she can find a man who can handle me, ma’am.” I grin. “She’s not doing too well on that.”

The bell over the door rings, and I turn just in time to see Detective Nash and Detective Bond The Eldest walk into the café.

“Why am I not surprised to find you here, Ms. Bond?” Drake drawls, his hands on his hips, his eyes burning into me.

“Because you’re following me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “How on Earth am I supposed to know that, Detective? I was just about to order coffee for all my staff. They’re workin’ real hard right now.”

“I’m sure you were,” he replies, disbelief thick in his tone. “Are you meddling in my investigation?”

“No, but you sure are meddling in my morning coffee consumption.” I sniff and turn back to Rosie. Shit. Now I have to pay for six cups of coffee. Sigh.

“I’ll be right with you, Detectives,” Rosie says, acknowledging them. “What can I get you, Miss Noelle?” She winks.

“A regular latte, a large cappuccino, a double espresso, and three large vanilla lattes, two of them skinny. Please.” I tick the orders off in my mind to make sure I have enough coffee for everyone. Yep. Nailed it.

“Of course there’s one full-fat vanilla latte,” Trent notes.

“Oh, bite me.” I roll my eyes and step to the side as Rosie turns to make my order. My eyes flit to the pastry cabinet.

“You’ll regret it tomorrow,” my brother warns, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, I already regret it,” I mutter. I should have known that these buffoons would turn up first thing this morning to talk to Rosie. But I figure I have at least an hour on them to figure out what the hell happened to Daniel Westwood.

God, it would be so much easier with his autopsy report.

“Get much out of Rosie?” Drake asks, his eyes telling me that he’s got my number.

“I don’t know what you mean, Detective. All I’ve said is that I’ll send Marshall around to help her with her deliveries now that Daniel isn’t with us.”

Drake’s eyes go cold, and I swear he gets an inch taller when he straightens. “Daniel?”

“Do you need a hearing test?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Noelle.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply, a sassy smile on my face as Rosie puts my coffees in front of me. I grab a large cup holder tray and say to her, “Could I get one of those chocolate croissants, too? And two of the hot bacon-and-cheese braids?”

“Of course.” Rosie bags them all up separately and gives me my total.

I hand her my card, fully aware of the two men staring at me—one with a lot more anger than the other. Rosie hands me the receipt, and I scribble my name on the signature line before handing it back to her.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say to Rosie then turn to Drake and Trent. “Have a good day, gentlemen.”

Trent simply shakes his head as I pick my pastries and coffees up. Drake, however, pins his eyes on me. His gaze follows me as I walk to the glass doors of the café and lean back against them to open it. I pause just before stepping out to shoot him a wide, I’ve-got-your-number smile with a touch of smugness.

His jaw tightens, and the angry glint in his eye only serves to make me laugh. Hot damn, it is just too easy to wind that man up. And way, way too fun.

I walk down the street and take the turn that’ll lead me to my office. My visit to Rosie’s, for all the questions it answered about Lena, has done nothing but give me another hundred and one more questions about Daniel. Holly Woods is a small town—surely, if he had been missing for a few days, someone would have known? Then again, his best friend was just killed. It would have been easy to assume he was hiding out as he coped with that.